by Frank Smith
‘I shouldn’t worry about it,’ Audrey said placidly. ‘You’ll be an inspector soon, and she’ll still be a sergeant. Anyway, what about that young man she was going out with?’ Audrey liked to keep up to date with what was going on at work. ‘You haven’t mentioned him for ages. The one who went to China.’
‘Hong Kong,’ Tregalles corrected. ‘And I think things might be a little dicey in that direction. Not that Molly’s ever said anything, but when I happened to mention him today, she got a little frosty, so I didn’t push it.’
‘Pity,’ Audrey sighed. ‘She’s a nice girl, is Molly. It would be good to see her settled, but if it’s not to be, then it’s not to be. So, what will you be doing tomorrow about the missing girl?’
‘As I said, we’ll be doing a sweep of the route we think Justine took, and Molly will be back at the house talking to the staff, and I think I’ll get her to have another word with Mrs Lorrimer’s older son, Sebastian Mills.’
Audrey looked up from her knitting. ‘Mrs Lorrimer’s been married before, then?’ she said, probing. ‘How old is the son?’
‘A lot older than her five-year-old son,’ Tregalles told her. ‘He’s twenty-four.’
‘Sebastian,’ Audrey said slowly. ‘Now there’s a name you don’t hear very often. Mrs Lorrimer must have been quite young when she had him. What would she be now? Forty-three or four?’
‘If she is, she’s in pretty good nick for her age,’ Tregalles said. ‘I’d have put her closer to thirty-five.’
Audrey laughed. ‘With a twenty-four-year-old son? Some detective you are!’ she said.
‘Well, it’s not the sort of thing you ask a woman like her, is it?’ he said. ‘But I’ll do that first thing tomorrow. I’ll tell her my wife wants to know. All right?’
‘No need for sarcasm,’ Audrey said. ‘I was just curious, that’s all. It seems to me that nineteen years between kids is stretching it a bit, if you’ll pardon the pun. I mean, why would she want another child at that age?’
‘From what I heard today, I don’t think she did,’ Tregalles said soberly.
‘Could have been an accident, I suppose.’ Frowning, Audrey thrust the needles into the ball of wool and set them aside. ‘And what, exactly, did you mean when you said Mrs Lorrimer’s in “good nick” for her age?’
‘Come to think of it, love, she’s a lot like you in a way,’ he said, grinning as he got to his feet. ‘Looks young for her age, kind of sexy … and hard as nails underneath.’ He raised his arms and stretched. ‘Dunno about you, love, but I’m ready for bed. What do you say?’
EIGHT
Wednesday, 4 April
Beginning at seven o’clock the following morning, two WPCs patrolled the route between Simla House and St Joseph’s Church. Armed with pictures of Justine Delgado, they stopped every man and woman setting off for work to ask if they had seen Justine on Easter Sunday. Later, it was older children on their way to school, and, as the day wore on, anyone who happened to pass by. They went in and out of shops and left posters in the windows. Some people glanced at the picture, then shook their heads and continued on; some stopped and took their time. Some scurried by, avoiding eye contact as if afraid they might be accused of something if they so much as paused, while others saw it as an opportunity to complain about something completely unrelated.
Meanwhile, a team of searchers, working in pairs, were knocking on doors and probing every dark corner, rubbish bin and possible hiding place along the same route. But, as Tregalles told Molly when he called her as she was leaving Simla House, they’d found nothing. ‘The trouble is,’ he said, ‘it was Easter Sunday so the shops were closed. There aren’t many private houses along the route, and there weren’t many people about that early in the morning. We’re not finished yet, but I think we’ll just have to hope that someone sees the picture and comes forward.’
‘You’re assuming Justine did actually go to church that morning,’ Molly said. ‘After all, she lied about where she was going afterwards.’
‘Like I needed reminding,’ Tregalles groaned. ‘So, how did you make out at the house?’
‘Didn’t get to see Michael Lorrimer,’ said Molly. ‘He’s been farmed out for the day with the woman who lives next door. Apparently, he gets on well with her, but neither of the Lorrimers want the boy upset over Justine’s disappearance any more than he is already. However, they did agree to let us look at his computer, so I’ve arranged for someone from Forensic to take a look at it. Also, I had a few words with Betty Jacobs, the woman who cooks and cleans. At least, I tried to, but she is hard of hearing, so it was a bit of a slog, and she couldn’t add anything to what we already know. And Sebastian’s out, so I’m on my way back to Charter Lane to check on Justine’s phone and internet records.’
‘Get someone else to do that,’ Tregalles said, ‘because I’d like you to do me a favour. Father Leonard just rang with the names of several people who might remember seeing Justine at mass last Sunday, and I was hoping that you could call in and pick them up on your way?’
‘And you’d like me to go round and talk to those people as well, I suppose?’
‘That’s the favour, Molly. I’m going to be tied up here for the rest of the day and most of the evening on callbacks, and the sooner someone talks to the church people, the better. All right?’
‘No problem,’ she said. ‘And good luck … boss.’ Molly smiled as she dropped her phone into her bag. Tregalles would like that. As her father used to tell her, it costs nothing to be nice to people, so why not?
As long as it didn’t go to Tregalles’s head, she thought belatedly.
Thursday, 5 April
Molly arrived early the following morning, but both Paget and Tregalles were already there, waiting for the rest of the staff to trickle in. But Paget was impatient, and, with ten minutes still to go to the top of the hour, he told Tregalles to begin.
‘I’m afraid we’ve drawn a complete blank on every possible street and back alley that Justine might have taken on her way to church,’ he said. ‘We’ve knocked on almost every door, with callbacks last evening to catch most of the ones we missed during the day, and we should be all caught up by noon today. We’ve shown Justine’s picture to just about everyone in the area; we’ve stopped people in the street, and we’ve not had so much as a flicker of recognition from anyone. And we’ve found nothing on the ground. No evidence of a struggle having taken place anywhere along the route. But then, it’s been raining on and off since the weekend, so any physical evidence there may have been could have been washed away by now.’
Paget shot Molly an enquiring look.
‘I don’t think Justine went to church,’ she said. ‘I spoke to the two Eucharistic ministers who assisted Father Leonard, as well as several members of the choir, and the organist. All of them say they know Justine by sight, because she rarely misses a Sunday, but none of them can recall seeing her there last Sunday at either service. I’ve left pictures of Justine in the church, together with a note asking anyone who has seen her to contact us, but, to be honest, I’m not holding my breath. I think something happened to her long before she got to the church, assuming she intended to go there in the first place.’
Tregalles was nodding. ‘I’m beginning to think along the same lines myself,’ he said. ‘I mean, everyone we’ve talked to tells us that Justine is a devout Catholic, dedicated to her job, devoted to the boy, supports her poor old granddad back in Manila, and butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Yet she lied when she said she was going to spend Sunday with her friend, Maria Navarro. So who was she going to meet? If she’s being that secretive about it, it has to be a man.’
It was Molly’s turn to nod agreement. ‘The date on the prescription for the pill is the third of January,’ she said. ‘Her doctor wasn’t all that helpful, but he did say that Justine had quizzed him pretty thoroughly about side effects, so I’m pretty sure it was the first time she’d used them. Funny thing is, she’s only used one pill out of three mo
nths’ supply.’
‘Maybe they didn’t agree with her,’ Tregalles suggested. ‘Whatever the explanation, it still brings us back to a man as the reason for her disappearance. And both Maria and Father Leonard said they noticed a change in Justine shortly after Christmas.’
‘It could explain why that crucifix was wrapped and hidden away,’ said Molly. ‘A sign that Justine was struggling with guilt.’
‘Maria told me the crucifix was on the wall above Justine’s bed the week before Christmas,’ Tregalles said. ‘I didn’t tell her it had been taken down.’
‘What about Miss Navarro?’ asked Paget. ‘Do you think that she knows more than she’s telling?’
Tregalles shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘She seems to be as baffled as we are, and I think she is genuinely worried about her friend. She is also concerned about Justine’s grandfather. As I was leaving, she asked if anyone had contacted him. She said she didn’t know the man, but she knew that he and Justine were very close, and she thought he should be told.’
‘I’ve taken care of that,’ Paget said. ‘Sorry, I should have mentioned it earlier. I spoke to the Manila police, and they told me that the old man is in a home. His name is Raul Aquino; he’s the girl’s grandfather on her mother’s side, and he’s in poor health. The man I spoke to got back to me late last night, and said that, on the advice of Mr Aquino’s doctor, he did not tell the old man that his granddaughter was missing, but presented himself as a friend of Justine’s asking if he had heard from her recently. He said Mr Aquino is mentally alert, but his memory is going, and he wasn’t able to say with any certainty when he had last spoken to Justine, nor did he give any indication that he thought anything was wrong. But the phone records should tell us.’ He looked at Molly. ‘Do we have anything back on that yet?’
Tregalles and Molly exchanged glances. DS Pierce might think she had Paget chained to his desk, but it looked as if he’d slipped his leash and was back in the field again.
‘The last call Justine made to Manila from the landline in her room was two weeks ago last Sunday,’ Molly said in answer to Paget’s question, ‘but we don’t have anything back yet on calls she may have made on her mobile phone, sir.’
‘Still no sign of her mobile or her laptop,’ said Paget. ‘What about CCTV coverage of the area? How is that coming along?’
‘No sign of her so far, sir,’ Molly said, ‘but we’re still looking.’
‘Good luck, then,’ Paget said, ‘and let me know if you do find anything. I’ll be in my office if you need me.’
‘Got a minute, Sarge? I think you might want to see this.’
Molly looked up to see a slim, dark-skinned young woman standing beside her desk. She smiled. ‘No need for the “Sarge”, Sophie,’ she said. ‘The name’s still Molly when the brass isn’t around.’
DC Sophie Kajura smiled in return. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but I thought it’s still new enough that you might like to hear your title used. I have something on screen that I think you should see.’
Sophie had only recently transferred in from Uniforms, a replacement for DC Tony Brooks, who had decided to take early retirement, at age twenty-nine, to become a househusband, staying home to look after their two children when his wife, a solicitor, was offered an extremely well-paid position with a law firm in Birmingham. ‘Why not?’ he’d said to colleagues who had tried to dissuade him. ‘She’s making more money than I’ll ever make if I stay here. Besides, I like being with my kids, and I’m a better cook than she is.’
‘It’s footage from the traffic camera monitoring the north end of Edge Hill Road,’ Sophie explained as they sat down in front of the screen. ‘You can just see the entrance to Lorrimer Drive. Unfortunately, you can’t see the whole entrance because the road turns to the right at that point. But if Justine was going to church, she would come out of Lorrimer Drive and we would have a clear view of her coming towards the camera. But if she was going the other way down into Edge Hill Crescent, we wouldn’t see her on camera.’
‘Right,’ said Molly. ‘I understand what you’re saying because I’ve been there. So, what is it you want me to see?’
Sophie ran the tape forward. ‘I’ve been over it several times,’ she said, ‘but there’s nothing between seven and eight that morning. At twenty minutes past eight, however, we have a white Ford Transit van parking just this side of the entrance to Lorrimer Drive. There! See?’ Sophie let the tape run. ‘As you can see, a man gets out and walks to the corner, where he seems to be looking for someone, then he walks back and gets in the van and just sits there.’ She ran the tape forward. ‘Then, at twenty-two minutes to nine, he gets out again and does the same thing. Then he’s back in the van, when a BMW comes out of Lorrimer Drive at nine minutes to nine, and comes towards the camera, then disappears beneath it. You can see the driver as he makes the turn – not all that clearly, but he appears to be the only one in the car. I can check the number plate to see—’
‘No need,’ said Molly. ‘That’s Sebastian Mills’s car, and it looks like him driving it. Let’s run that again, Sophie. Slowly. I’d like to see if Justine could be hidden in the back of the car.’ They both watched intently, but the reflections on the windows blocked a view of the interior of the car.
They watched together as the tape rolled on, but there was no more activity until two minutes to nine, when the man got out of the van and stood looking down Lorrimer Drive for almost five minutes, then returned to the van and drove off. Sophie ran the tape forward again. ‘And there you see Mr Lorrimer’s car turning in at nine fourteen, returning from Worcester, which matches what he told you. Then he and his wife come out again at nine forty-six, presumably on their way to church.’
Molly had Sophie run the tape again up to where the white van drove off, then slumped back in her chair. ‘It could be anybody under that jacket and hood,’ she complained. ‘He never looks up once. That camera must be fifty or sixty yards away, but it’s almost as if he knows it’s there. And the black-and-white picture doesn’t exactly help with the clothing, either. Is this the best we can do for clarity?’
‘It gets more grainy if I enlarge it,’ Sophie explained, ‘and because of the way the van is parked, the number plate is unreadable. But if you look closely’ – she ran the tape back – ‘there’s a dark strip that looks like rust along the bottom of the rear doors, and you can just see marks that could be scratches or grazes beside the right rear light. Forensic may be able to do something with the picture, and, if we can find the van, at least we know what to look for.’
Sophie sat back. ‘And just in case Justine did go down Edge Hill Crescent and was picked up by someone in a car, I’m running a check on all the cars on camera around the time she disappeared. There aren’t many; traffic was pretty light that early in the morning, but you never know.’
Molly’s mind was running ahead. ‘He got the time wrong,’ she said. ‘He was expecting Justine to be going to the nine o’clock mass as she usually did, assuming it was Justine he was waiting for, and I can’t think who else it would be, so it has to be someone who knows her and her habits.’ Molly continued to stare at the screen. ‘I wonder who was looking after Michael Lorrimer while the Lorrimers were at church,’ she said softly. ‘I doubt if they would have taken him with them, and there was no one else in the house.’
‘Didn’t I see something in the notes about the woman in the cottage next door looking after the boy?’ Sophie ventured.
‘That’s right, a Mrs Tillman,’ Molly said, ‘and thanks for reminding me. I think it’s time I had a chat with her.’
NINE
‘It’s Tilly,’ the woman said firmly when Molly introduced herself and addressed her as Mrs Tillman. ‘And you’ll be here about Justine, no doubt. Is there any news, Sergeant?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Molly, ‘which is why I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind? And my name is Molly.’
‘Then you’d best come inside a
nd I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Tilly, dusting off her hands.
Tilly was a small woman, dark-haired, weathered face, arms lean and sinewy, as were her hands, roughened by years of working with the soil.
They were standing between the back door of the cottage and a large greenhouse. Molly had tried the front door without success, so she had come around to the back where she’d found Tilly potting up seedlings.
The cottage was small. ‘Lieutenant Colonel Lorrimer had it built at the same time as Simla House,’ Tilly told Molly. ‘Built it for his batman and his wife. Like a lot of others in those days, the colonel brought his batman with him when he retired and returned to England, and he left the cottage and this bit of land to them in his will. Of course, it’s changed hands a good many times since then. We came here nine years ago when Fred, my late husband, retired from the nursery in Pond Street.’ She cast an enquiring glance at Molly. ‘It’s Stirling’s now.’
Molly nodded. ‘I’ve bought several plants from there,’ she said. Most of which had died from neglect, she thought guiltily, but better not mention that.
‘This place is small,’ Tilly continued, ‘but it suited Fred and me, because we spent most of our time in the greenhouse or the garden anyway. Fred was quite a bit older than me, but he was still only seventy-two when cancer took him, so I’ve been on my own now for the past five years.’ She waved Molly to a seat at the kitchen table. ‘Sit yourself down and I’ll get the tea made. It’s not often I have company, but I’m sure I have a few biscuits in the cupboard.’
‘Now,’ Tilly said a few minutes later, as she poured tea and sat down facing Molly across the kitchen table, ‘you were asking about Justine.’ She pushed a plate of biscuits towards Molly. ‘Lovely girl, and I don’t just mean her looks; I mean as a person. Michael is so lucky to have her as a teacher – well, she’s more than that to him. More like his mother, as far as he’s concerned.’
